58 Watching the Brant Grow Big. 



clams. We will not forget this recog- 

 nition on their part when it is time to re- 

 turn to the boat. In the sand-bar there is 

 a sunken box just big enough for me to 

 hide in. Its edges are level with the sur- 

 face of the sand, excepting where the last 

 high tide wanted some of the sand to 

 make little wavy ridges with. Captain 

 spades up fresh sand to hide the box with, 

 and while this is being done I walk to a 

 higher part of the bar that has not been 

 under water for three or four tides. The 

 wind has thrown the light sand into waves 

 and ridges, just as the water would have 

 done it. So wind and water are good 

 chums off on the Bay. Here is a bunch 

 of old wrack that pulled a scallop shell 

 from its quiet bed, and came to grief on 

 the bar. Here is a dried bit of leathery 

 devil's apron that was torn from an ocean 

 meadow perhaps by some derelict hull 

 roving in the faintly-lighted depths with- 

 out commission. Here is a cork that once 

 was young and tender bark in Spain, 

 growing under southern stars until men 

 bargained for it with money. Then it 



